


I want to be your starlight

by Eriathalia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22545910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eriathalia/pseuds/Eriathalia
Summary: Crowley had thought their life after the Apocalypse that wasn't to be less dull, but the angel is too caught up in his old routines and books to notice he is hurting his companion of long.After breaking into a fight with the angel, Crowley leaves on hopes of clearing his head as well as mend his broken heart.It takes them some time and effort to find their way back together
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 99
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	I want to be your starlight

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for the Good Omens Big Bang 2019.  
> Check out the amazing art work by @Ryoukon!

The truth was: Crowley had imagined the rest of the end of their days to be a little less…dull. A spirit driven by curiosity, he had always longed for freedom. It was one of the main reasons he was doomed to fall in the first place. Crowley's rebellion had freed him from one pair of chains and locked him up in another one, so much heavier than what he had endured before.

Then came the affair with the almost Apocalypse and against all odds they had succeeded. It was as unexpected as it was a welcome turn of events.

That evening as they sat at the bus stop he had, for the first time, allowed his mind to wander freely, envisioning what his new life could hold in store.

Before that, he had kept his innermost wishes at bay, locked them up in the deepest, darkest corners of his tainted soul, unwilling to endanger himself, and even less willing to endanger the silly, hedonistic, and so often clueless angel that he had fallen for millennia ago.

Yes, Crowley had attempted to express his affection in many a way, had asked him out for lunch, vanished spots from that outdated and yet still pristine coat his angel was so fond of, and saved him from being discorporated. Certainly, he had tried to cover up the real purpose by voicing his annoyance, feigning inconvenience, and occasionally snarling in frustration, but all of it had been worth seeing the angel’s face light up in a soft smile. Crowley had savored them all, filed them away for all the long periods when he would not be allowed to glance at them.

And then it all went sour, well, from a certain angle at least.

The way Aziraphale had answered his toast at the Ritz, the fond quirk of lips, and an affectionate twinkle in his eye had sparked a sense of certainty inside the demon he had never experienced till that very moment. Back then he thought it meant ‘I know my dear. I feel it too’.

How wrong he had been about it. 

The point was, Aziraphale liked his habits, liked to cling to them as if they were a lifeline, a stark contrast to Crowley’s own far more volatile nature.

Crowley loved to explore, reckoned that since no one was holding him back now, they could roam the world together, no more need to hide, no more secrecy. Yes, he had been able to see many a wondrous place on his own, always under the disguise to spread evil and discord, but nothing could ever compare to a companion by his side. And for the longest time, he had thought Aziraphale to be a kindred spirit in the need to know more.

Apparently, he had been wrong in his assessment yet again.

***

Crowley was currently watching the angel from his spot perched on the old-fashioned settee across from Aziraphale’s comfortable armchair, legs dangling over the worn-out armrest.

His angel was buried in one of his precious books, humming once in a while, occasionally taking a sip of his cocoa. Although his expression was content, it brought a frown to Crowley’s face, not for the fact that he disliked the other’s comfort, but more for the fact that he was bored out of his wits.

He yawned, making the loudest and most annoying sound that he could manage but to no avail. Aziraphale’s eyes remained fixed on the pages of his book.

He stretched and coughed rather dramatically, shooting the other another questioning glance. It yielded no reaction either. Crowley sighed. This had been going on for hours, after all. How his angel could be so transfixed by a piece of fiction, and one that he certainly had read several times before, was beyond his understanding.

“Angel,” he chimed up, sitting up straight, then leaning forward towards the other, chin propped up on one of his hands.

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale mumbled without even raising his eyes. His fingers gently flipped the page as if the old tome was a treasure more valuable than gold.

“I am bored, Angel!” the demon exclaimed expectantly.

“Now, that is just wonderful dear,” the angel replied, much to Crowley's dismay.

Crowley gawked, eyes wide in disbelief.

“I. Am. Bored.” He huffed once again and finally the angel decided to direct his attention towards the other.

“You seem a tad nervous.” Aziraphale eyed the other curiously, noting the leg bouncing in barely concealed agitation.

“Maybe you should go for a walk,” the angel suggested. “Some fresh air might do you good.” He turned his head, took in the overcast sky outside, though the lack of rain made him nod in satisfaction, reinforcing his suggestion. Autumn had taken over after all. It would still be pleasant enough to take in the golden and red leaves, lending nature a warm glow this time of year.

“How ‘bout you come with me. Feed the ducks, maybe grab a snack on the way back.” Crowley grinned, the prospect of free food usually a guaranteed way to win the other over. It was not that he expected Aziraphale to go out of his way, not yet at least, but the lingering silence was slowly driving him insane. It had long ago lost the companionable comfort it once possessed, if only for the reason that now there were so many other options and no one to stop or punish them. 

Much to his chagrin, the angel shrugged, and, after contemplating the quickly darkening sky outside once more, settled for “I am quite alright. Do not mind me, dear.”

Crowley was caught between feelings of being stunned and utterly frustrated. Once the angel would have jumped on any occasion to spend an evening filled with food and quite copious amounts of fine wine, but that had slowly subsided once their respective head offices had given up on breathing down their necks. 

He still prided himself quite a bit on the stunt of swapping their bodies, and who could hold him at fault for it? He was demon after all and the idea an utter stroke of genius.

“I could take you out to the Ritz?” he tilted his head, pouting a little in hopes to persuade the other at last, “I think there will be an opening just in time. I’ve even heard they added some formidable new desserts to the menu.” That last part was a blatant lie, but he could always pretend he must have mixed up the information with another fine restaurant, as long as it would grant him his angels company, and more importantly, his attention. He almost wondered if Aziraphale’s unwillingness to embark on anything but reading had been driven by the fear of being caught slacking by his superiors. After all, he knew the other hated to lie, and forging your reports was essentially that, though he usually chose to leave out the more pleasurable conclusions to a task well done.

“I think that would be unwise,” Aziraphale replied, tugging at the hem of his waistcoat, a small gesture mostly hidden behind his book, but not subtle enough for the demon not to notice. Of course, Crowley would never admit it, but millennia of pining had turned taking in the subtleties of the angel's behavior into a sport he rather excelled in.

“But you love food!” Crowley exclaimed, disbelief and disappointment evident in his tone. Despite his best efforts to appear cool and collected, his expression turned to almost desperate. He certainly was grateful his shades hid the hurt in his eyes at least. “Tea? Anything at all Angel? There must be something you would like.” His hands gripped the fabric of his skinny jeans tightly.

“No. I’m fine. All is tickety-boo” That said, Aziraphale gave the other a quick though gentle smile, then turned his attention back to his novel.

“Fine,” Crowley spat, his mood turning from wanting the company to defensive anger, efficiently masking his unhappiness. In the long span of his existence, he had been conditioned to know that showing any sort of weakness was not an option. Observing his fellow demons (at the mere thought, his face contorted into an expression of sheer disgust) had quickly taught him they reveled in exploiting whatever opening was given to them. Harming others was what they lived for, making a game out of seeing who could come up with the greatest cruelty and handing them a nice and shiny badge for outstanding job performance. Crowley himself had never sensed so much as a flicker of that urge. True, he enjoyed some good mischief and inconveniencing those who deserved it, but in the end, his resolve to always keep his hands clean of any true evil had held strong across the centuries, aided by two facts.

One: he did not so much plan to fall as sauntered vaguely downwards, and second, the human race was a rather creative one. There never had been the need to get his hands dirty. And Crowley had a sixth sense for turning up in the right place at just the right time to take credit for whatever horrors the humans came up with by that time. It was, to him, a perfect win-win situation. 

“Fine,” he mumbled again, prying his wandering mind away from the unpleasant memories and stood with such force he almost managed to topple over the settee.

Aziraphale merely raised an eyebrow and tutted quietly. “Do be careful. That one is antique. You would not find any other of such exquisite qua-”

“Since you have no interest in my company whatsoever,” Crowley cut in, breathing heavily as he struggled to contain his ire fueled by the hurt of being less interesting than a piece of junk that could be repaired or replaced by the mere snap of a finger. “I will just leave you to your own devices.” That said, he grabbed his jacket from the hat stand and marched out of the shop, letting the door fall shut behind him with as loud a bang as he could muster without causing damage to it.

The angel stared after him, a hint of worry in his eyes. He was not certain what had brought on the sudden outburst. After all, the afternoon had passed by without any incidents, calm and normal, just as things always used to be. It was all he could have hoped for, a cup of cocoa, a good book and the one he cared about most close by. That sort of peace and tranquility was more than enough for him. With a heavy sigh, he once more turned back to the yellowing pages. Crowley would come around eventually. He always did in the end.

***

The streets outside were chilly from the crisp autumn wind. Crowley burrowed deeper into his jacket, though the thin fabric did little to fend off the cold. part of him regretted leaving the cozy bookshop in a rush, and even more so since his outburst prohibited him to return, though maybe part of it was his hurt pride. Whoever could tell? Crowley would not bother to even try. 

In any case, he felt a pang of deep sadness at being put aside and ignored like a random piece of furniture as if the angel considered him part of the shop's inventory. He huffed in frustration, causing a nearby couple to be drenched by a splash of water stirred up by a lorry passing by too close. It did nothing to lighten his foul mood. To his utter dismay, he could feel the first drizzle of rain falling upon him. Although he could have easily willed the droplet to avoid him, he chose not to waste his energy. What did he even care if he got soaked in the rain? It was not as if he was even able to catch a cold. It would be sticky, it would be unpleasant, it would be just right for someone like him. 

He probably should have taken the Bentley, though in his hurry to get some distance between him and the bookshop he had blindly stomped off. Crowley paused in his tracks, taking in his surroundings, trying to make out his position. Somehow the streets seemed rather unfamiliar, despite him calling London his home for the last couple of centuries. A pub at a nearby street corner caught his attention. It sure looked a tad shabby and run down, but the laughter from inside and the promise of booze to quiet his mind was more than enough to lure him in anyway. 

Crowley entered the dimly lit bar, slinking into a seat in the back of the room halfway hidden in shadow. He did not require company to drink, at least if that company did not consist of a certain angel. And why did he have to think about him yet again when all he desired was to take his mind off him for a blissful few hours?

The way that Aziraphale had turned down his invitations had left him with a cold sense of being unwanted. Much as he was loathe to admit it, the angel’s approval was what had kept him pressing on for all this time. If not for him, Crowley might not have cared about the end of the world happening after all. What would it have mattered if the world had fallen to ashes without that one constant in his life?

A constant...yes. Crowley had seen empires rise and fall, had even helped to make or break some of them. But the unwavering change, generations coming and going in a never-ending circle had taken their toll on him.

In the beginning, when the world had still been new, Crowley had liked to mingle with the humans, had enjoyed the happy laughter of children, had even made some friends. Some of his fondest memories beside his angel’s smile consisted of tiny fingers wrapping around his own so much bigger hands, squeezing them tightly, the trust those children showed him, sometimes a flower woven into his fiery curls or a shy peck placed upon his freckled cheek. He had watched them grow, taught them some valuable lessons of life and then…?Then fate had always taken its turn. The few years of glory were soon replaced by the anguish of parting, his body never aging like theirs. He was unfit to linger, lest they would finally start to ask the right questions Crowley wouldn’t have been able to answer. No, he could not have risked exposure of that kind, thus was condemned to watch from afar as those whom he had raised turned old and grey and perished in the end.

Most ethereal or occult beings hardly cared about the fates of men farther than gaining the upper hand over the respective enemy, an unstoppable push and pull of forces, diminishing HER children to nothing but pawns in an ineffable game they were bound to lose in the end.

Crowley was not most of them. Being cast out from heaven for questioning orders and estranged from hell for retaining his compassion, he never truly felt at home until he wandered amongst men. They were creative, so full of wonder and zest to understanding the inner workings of their world, willing to listen, eager to learn and to share their knowledge. In some ways, despite his immortality, Crowley had always felt himself closer to them than he had to his kind, be it angels or demons. A lack of obedience and an aversion to pain and hatred, those were the traits most prominent inside of him, the traits that set him apart from his inheritance and linked him to those who were not meant to last. It stung a little at first, became easier with some time as he came to terms with how he was not meant to behave like one of them, then finally weighed heavy on his spirit, for he knew that he did not truly belong with them either, no matter how much he wanted the world to be his home.

He might have given up by that point, had it not been for a round face, bright blue eyes, and a head of unruly blonde curls that followed his trail, for some miraculous reason crossing his path whenever the burden of burying another close friend, someone Crowley had allowed himself to become too attached to, was about to break him for good. 

And so the angel became his anchor in reality. Fascination turned into fondness, that fondness into friendship and the friendship ultimately into a love rooted deep inside his soul, making itself at home as if it had always been meant to be there. At first, he denied it, arguing that a demon such as him was not meant to feel the tender waves of love that flooded him with every soft smile, every wiggle of that pretty head, or a shy wink of eyes. He has passed it down as lust born out of his hunger for another's flesh, even if he never so much as looked into anyone else’s direction with a flicker of desire. Humans held no appeal to him in that regard, and Crowley, by that time, had been more than content with whatever friendship would keep him company in lonely years. Only his love became more and more apparent that he tried so hard to win another one of those little smiles and whenever their hands or shoulders would brush so briefly, he knew that he had fallen yet again, was still falling with little to no hope to ever be caught, for certainly the angel would never feel the same about a tainted creature of hell like him.

“ANOTHER ONE,” Crowley slurred, waving an empty glass of whiskey up in the air at an elderly man, sporting a full beard, long greying hair swept back in a ponytail as well as a brown apron sporting the pub’s logo. He had lost track of how many he had already finished off. All he knew was that he wanted more, wanted the alcohol to purge the memory of a wrinkled nose from his thoughts. The world felt fuzzy, the sounds bleeding together into a cacophony, and yet those blue eyes, bright like a clear summer sky, were looking at him, judging him for being so pathetic. He groaned and downed the whiskey offered to him in one go, slamming the tumbler down onto the table, fingers clenched around it in an iron grasp.

“Jusss g’me the bot’le” he mumbled, his free hand grappling for the barman's apron and missing it by a long shot.

“I think you had quite enough ” the other replied, holding the bottle just out of reach.

“C’mon ye spoilsssporrtttt.” Crowley hiccupped, emitted a loud burp, then lunged forward in a futile attempt to snatch the bottle from his hands. He missed his mark again and toppled off his chair, tipping it over in the process. He cursed under his breath, rubbing his side which had made some rather close contact with the corner of the table.

“That’s it for you. I’m gonna call someone to pick you up. No use wasting away here. Nothin’ can be that bad.” The barman nodded decisively, fixing the other with an expectant look. The demon chose to ignore it.

“He doesssssssn't love me,” Crowley suddenly whined, hiding his face in his hands “he don' care ‘bout me. After all disssss time he likes books….blasted thingssss those books...stupid things and stinky and makes my nose itch and why did he not want desssssssert with me?!” He bared his teeth, then sunk back against the next best piece of furniture as a wave of nausea hit him hard, letting his head fall back. “He don't care ‘bout me ever, ” the devastated demon sobbed. “Ssssssstupid me, stupid stUPID, STUPID” his fist hit the wooden floor, causing him to wince as he felt an immediate soreness spreading through his knuckles. “Ow,” he muttered. “Hurrrtssssss.”

“So that’s what it is then?” the barman chuckled “must have been quite the break up then. C’mon chap. Who’m I gonna call?” He bent down and held out his hand, though there was no answer to the question as the alcohol had finally worked it’s magic and sent the demon off into a fitful slumber.

The other man contemplated the sorry figure on the ground in an attempt to decide for the best course of action as he heard a Queen song blasting from the sunken guys pocket “Fat bottomed boys you make the rocking world go round…!” he could have sworn that was not quite the correct text but decided to forego wondering about it instead snatching up the phone. The display read ‘Angel’ and showed a blurred picture of a blonde man, round-faced but radiating a joy and calm that was truly captivating, which must have been taken in secret. Swiping the green button, he answered. The voice at the other end of the line seemed worried out of their mind. With a smile, the server reckoned that not all was over for the redhead collapsed on his floor yet. Since the pub had slowly cleared of most customers, he produced a blanket from the backroom, draping it over the sleeping form.

“Guess you got a lot to discuss when you wake up chap,” he whispered, though the words remained unheard by the one they were directed at.

Crowley woke with a splitting headache. And worse than that he didn't even know.how he got here - wherever here was. His vision was blurred by too bright lights and the aftereffects of the alcohol. Usually he would have sobered up, but he fathomed his quest in shut out the whole world by shutting off his brain had been a full success. At least for that time being. Of course, he hadn’t anticipated regretting his decision back then either. 

Crowley tried to sit up, every fiber of his body resisting the sudden movement, eventually causing him to fall back against the cushions with a low groan. His hand felt around for his shades, which he couldn’t remember removing at all. Each movement caused his headache to evolve into the equivalent of someone repeatedly hitting him with a sledgehammer, and the glow of the lamp above did nothing to help with the matter, especially since his eyes were rather sensitive to light by default. Finally his fingers made contact with a familiar shape somewhere to his right. 

Swiftly, not that swiftly was a well thought through action, he replaced his shades on the bridge of his nose, emitting a sigh of relief. Using them as a shield between himself and the world was one part of the equation, their practical use a different and barely acknowledged feat, that he nonetheless like to fall back upon whenever the need arose.

"Returned to the world of the living, I see," came a familiar voice from the other end of the room. Crowley squinted, hoping to make out the shape of the one advancing slowly, though all he could see were chaotic blotches of brown and cream and white.

"That you Aziraph-" his voice sounded hoarse, tongue stumbling over the words "Angel?" At his attempt to sit up straight, Crowley was hit by a sudden burst of nausea. He should really have willed his hangover away, but somehow the demon was unable to concentrate enough to make it happen. Emitting another low groan, he slumped back against the soft cushions behind him once more.

"Obviously. Who else would wander outside in the rain to pick up your drunk self from a shady pub. Though I have to admit the owner seemed friendly enough to not let you be robbed on the spot." The pale form solidified a little more as it settled at the edge of what Crowley assumed was the old settee in the back room of the angel’s bookshop. The other's tone however, left a sinking feeling in his gut, and no, this was definitely not the nausea.

Rarely had he ever heard such dismay in his angel's voice. A tad of disappointment, maybe even chastising someone lightly, yes, but never that underlying anger. Crowley would have recoiled farther, but there was no more space to fall back any further, nor did he find himself in any condition to don his snake form and silently slither away to hide until the storm, or rather his angel’s foul mood, had passed. No, he had to sit this one out. Crowley dreaded the very thought of it for various reasons, one of them being the simple circumstance that he was in fact the cause of it.

"What were you thinking?!" Aziraphale almost spat and the demon shied away instinctively, lowering his head ruefully. As soft as the other might have seemed on the outside, he still possessed a strength not to be underestimated. Yet he could not help becoming defensive about his actions, demonic instincts kicking in. 

"What? Begrudging me a little fun, Angel?" Finally Crowley managed to maneuver his protesting body into a sitting position.

“If you call getting sloshed in a shabby tavern fun then yes, I very much do.” Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the edge of a nearby table. “Why did you run off in the first place? You have any idea what could have happened to you? You could have been discorporated! You could have left me alone with no chance of you ever returning!”

Crowley sneered. “So what? Giving a shi- ah, whatever! It’s none of your business!” He tried to stand up, his feet giving out almost immediately, landing him in an ungraceful heap straight back on the settee. “Besides, _Aziraphale,_ ” He spat out the name. “It’s not all about you. You made it more than clear you are content with your books!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The lines on his angel’s usually so beatific face were deepening in a mixture of anger and confusion. Crowley did not like it one bit, but the words, kept on flowing from his lips like poison.

“Do not pretend to care. You and your precious books. You and your go- sat- someone's-damned rules to go by, your blasted naivety. You live in your own happy bubble. There’s no looking left or right. There is only you! You do not care about others needs as long as you are content!” Despite him not being dependent on breathing, Crowley was panting once the words had left his lips.

His agitation soon enough ebbed away, leaving his heart empty and a bitter taste on his tongue as he watched the other’s expression fall further. He had not meant to be accusatory, had not meant to cause the hurt that was now oh so clear on Aziraphale’s beautiful features. Everything inside him longed to set things right, tell the other that he missed him, missed him in a way that even if they were so damn close the angel still seemed out of reach. He wanted to pour his heart out, just hold on to that elegant hand grasping the edge of the table in an iron hold. He _wanted_. He wanted so much. Maybe even too much. So much to say, so much to ask and no words to express. His forsaken pride held him back. His pride and the fear that he had already crossed a line, had reached the point of no return.

Still he tried “Angel I-” A sharp wave of the angel's hand cut him off before he could utter any more words.

“Silence!” Aziraphale’s voice was low, cutting and dangerous, dripping with the disappointment of someone who had just been proven right after denying what everyone around him said. 

“If you don’t want m- want to be here, go! I am content. I-I don’t need you. You-you- ungrateful-” the angel took a deep breath to steady himself. “I think it would be better if you left. I will hail a cab. You are in no condition to drive anyway.” Without as much as another glance, he turned and left, never noting a shaking hand reaching out as if to stop him. Crowley couldn’t have stopped him if he wanted to. He had lost all right to ask anything off the angel. Might as well have sold his soul to hell. The thought made him chuckle under his breath for ironically he had just done that by asking too many questions back then, way back before his fall. What a fool he had been for ever believing that they could have escaped the path set in stone.

Gathering the last bit of his strength, he managed to stand, silently sneaking out the door. Just as the angel had not seen him reaching out, he missed sad eyes shining with tears following him from behind the heavy curtains as he pushed his way through the Soho crowd. 

Crowley spent the trip back on the bus in silence, tucked away into the farthest corner, watching buildings fly by outside. As he finally stepped into his flat he could not even muster the strength to yell at his plants. He had ranted more than enough for a lifetime, though it had been directed at the wrong one. Even though he had the power to stop time, hold on to a moment for just a while more than it had been supposed to last. But turning back events that he longed to correct? No, he was not granted that mercy. Once he had liked to believe that meeting Aziraphale had been a second shot at happiness. Now, he was not so certain about it anymore. He highly doubted that his relationship with the angel could be mended that easily, that was, if the other would even allow it at all. If only he had the courage to say out loud what had been on his mind for thousands of years he might have stood a chance. However, he knew the cruel games SHE liked to play. After all his existence had always consisted of a flicker of hope which then had been crushed to dust. Or maybe the core of his undoing was, in the end, no one but himself. As he stared at his blank walls he found they reflected his own life all too well.

At the other end of the city, the cocoa in a pristine white, winged cup had congealed long ago as the one who had meant to consume it had been too caught up with staring at the front of the same book for hours, an antique atlas depicting the multitude of stellar constellations a certain demon had once gifted him with, possibly the only thing that was remaining from what could have been their future.

The wall was a pristine white. Well, yes of course it was; after all, Crowley had followed the newest standard of high class chic. It was, if anything, for show, a blatant display of wealth. What it was missing, however, was the homey feeling that a certain cluttered and carefully disorganized bookshop delivered so effortlessly. Crowley missed it, missed the warmth and soft, dimmed lights and the scent of hot cocoa mingled with old parchment and something that was so uniquely and undeniably his angel.

Could he go back? No. His pride simply wouldn't allow it. Besides, the way Aziraphale had basically kicked him to the curb still stung in the deepest, darkest corners of his heart.

Did he miss the angel? More than anything. No matter how much time passed between their meetings over the course of the last six millennia, Aziraphale had always remained a constant in his own existence. Having him ripped away felt, for the lack of a less cheesy way to express it, like losing half of himself. That was how he ended up on the floor staring at his wall in the first place.

He had thought that sleep would be a rather splendid solution until the dust had settled and they could begin an attempt of picking up the pieces their recent fight had left in its wake. The execution of the theory had proven rather difficult in the end. The sleek silken sheets on his bed were rumpled, some pillows strewn across the floor and even some of the walls and ceiling showed signs of his restlessness. Sleep had evaded him as his mind kept repeating the scenes of their fight over and over, urging him to find out where he had gone wrong. And the truth was, that he had behaved like a fool. Yes, his angel could be both stubborn and callous, but hadn't he been right about his reckless behavior? If only his defense mechanism hadn't set in so forcefully, causing him to rebuff Aziraphale's words with all the vehemence he could come up with, he might have salvaged the situation. He simply couldn't admit that at the core of everything was his need for more quality time with his angel. Crowley groaned at the thought alone. As if he was some lost puppy or a child, pathetic in the need for closeness.

It was the truth, nonetheless. Heaven had banished him and hell was too cruel a place to ever feel remotely like home. But his angel did, and his indifference felt to Crowley like being stabbed with a knife. 

As much as he was loathe to admit it, he felt lonely. It was the curse of being as close to immortal as anyone (except for HER) would ever get. Most angels or demons did not much care about that sort of sensation, but neither Crowley nor Aziraphale were quite like them. He needed companionship, he craved the calming presence of a friend. Even silence was a lot easier to bear with someone right by your side. That was, until hopes and expectations made it not enough. Once, he would have gladly accepted a quiet evening in the mere presence of Aziraphale and been more than just content, but time and the promise of freedom had made him greedy. And greed had been his downfall, a mortal sin so befitting the creature of hell he ultimately was. 

Crowley got to his feet, pacing the span of his spacious living room. If sleep wouldn't take his mind off the matter, he would have to take things into his own hands.

He had attempted to threaten his plants simply to pass the time, though his words lacked the usual bite and gusto that made his greenery tremble in fear on any other occasion. This time around he could have sworn there was a light, sarcastic rustling from an orchid in the farthest corner of the room.

He could go and cause some minor inconveniences, pull the trick of gluing coins to the ground, maybe make an ice cream cone or two melt, feed the ducks at St. James' Park. He just...didn't feel up to it. What fun was it without eyebrows raising in dismay, blue eyes shining with disapproval that could barely conceal the underlying amusement?

Anything, every habit he could think of just lead his thoughts back to the angel, the one subject he so desperately sought to distract himself from thinking about. 

A change of tapestry then? He thought hard about the places he had not yet seen. The options were unlimited. How hard could it possibly be? With a flick of his hand, an atlas floated over from a shelf. Aziraphale would have greatly disapproved of his handling of books both old and new, but alas the angel was nowhere in sight. Australia? Go diving or catch a glimpse of Ayers Rock? Nah. Whatever the humans had done to the oceans had taken away a lot of the Great Barrier Reef's beauty. If anything it would make him feel more depressed. And he wasn't a big fan of piles and piles of sand either. Also kangaroos: the last time Crowley had come close to one of them, it had gained him a good kick in the crown jewels (which gladly he didn't have at that time being, too lazy to make any effort, though it had stung anyway). So Australia was out.

Japan? No, all the splendid food would remind him of his angel's love of sushi. He shook his head, trying to purge the thought from his mind right away.

Russia? Too cold this time of year. Cold blooded as he was, he liked it nice and toasty warm.To the south it was then. Italy? No. Been there, done that. Spain? Too run over with tourists this time of year. Greece? Not as interesting as it used to be. Once you had seen the great temples in their full glory as Crowley had thousands of years ago, you thought the ruins remaining rather bleak. And also, tourists again. Brazil? Rio was rather nice indeed, but he preferred the Carnival and it simply wasn't the season. Besides, thinking of the Carnival gave him the mental image of the angel in a skimpy costume, feathers framing his plump bottom and that soft, round, luscious stomach wiggling with every- he shook his head to get rid of the thought and who had turned up the heat anyway?! 

Florida? The Everglades were too swampy -he snorted at his own rather awful pun- for his liking, but a trip to Disney? , Thrill-seeking, candy en mass, and a lot of kids to harass... perfect!

As he contemplated packing a few things- not that he needed to, he could will whatever he desired into existence -his thoughts drifted off to how nice having a companion would be. His options were limited of course. After all, you could only go on so long before the lack of an aging process became too apparent and people started asking questions. It made finding friends rather difficult, not that the demon had ever considered needing anyone but a certain angel that was both so alike and completely unlike himself. He pondered his choices for a moment longer.

Alpha Centauri? Why not? How many times had he told, well more or less threatened, the angel he would take off to the stars without him. 

There would be peace and quiet and maybe...yes, he could meddle a little. He vividly remembered hanging some of the stars himself. Who knew, there might be some power of creation left inside him, a proof that he was not as rotten inside an unworthy of the angel's love after all. Certainly Aziraphale's attitude had shown him no less with his constant ignorance.

In the blink of an eye he felt the weightlessness of space surrounding him, his silhouette bathed in the light of twin stars, so close they seemed to be one when looked upon from a distance. 

The notion was enough to make his heart sink in an instant. That one place which should have felt like returning home appeared more lonely than any other he could have come up with. 

Twins...a perfect couple...like his angel and...Crowley felt a tear slip down his cheek. The truth was, no place would ever be home without Aziraphale. Suddenly the silence seemed deafening, unbearable, crushing him beneath an invisible weight. He couldn't breathe, felt like suffocating despite his lack of need for air. He couldn't bear this or his heart would be torn to pieces, reminded of what he wished to be but never could go back to, as well as what was farther out of reach than it had ever been before.

He landed in his gilded chair with a groan, feeling drained of all energy, cold sweat beading upon his forehead. He needed a distraction that some time alone could never offer. Leaning back his head he sighed into the emptiness of his flat, the sound echoing off his walls as if mocking him in his defeat. 

His mind was racing. Who was there he could turn to besides his angel? Someone like him was not run over by friends. In fact a certain angel was…he groaned in utter frustration. There had to be someone -anyone- else.

Adam? Certainly he could sneak the Antichrist away for an afternoon? After all, he was kind-of-sort-of-almost-not-so-much-but-who-cared his godfather? Shouldn't he have a closer eye on how his protege was faring? Besides, the boy loved a good combination of fun and mischief. That Crowley himself had grown rather fond of him was a welcome bonus to the plan.

A grin spread across his handsome face and his yellow eyes lit up behind the shades. Who needed the angel if he could find company that was more fun? (Yes, it was barely more than an illusion, but let a lonely demon have his joy for once!)

Within moments the engine of his Bentley was roaring as he shot along the narrow London streets towards the small village of Tadfield. That he almost hit a pedestrian or two, as well as the exasperated gasps of passersby and cyclists hardly bothered him.

Crowley's mind was set on a goal and no force in the world would stop him. Befitting the mood, "Don't stop me now" was blaring from the speakers of his treasured car.

***

Meanwhile an angel was turning the last pages of the book carefully held in his hands, a Wilde first edition signed by the author himself. He had been friends with the author for a brief period of time, and the angel remembered his companion rather fondly. They'd been, as he liked to put it, kindred spirits. Aziraphale gingerly placed the book aside. His cocoa had grown cold and the sky outside had turned a lovely shade of red and orange. He had not even taken note of how quickly time had passed.

As he turned his head he noted the empty settee across the room. A frown spread over his face as he remembered the fight which had occurred earlier that day. 

The blunt truth was: books had an almost magical effect on him, often enough to cause him to forget his surroundings. It made him seem detached or even callous to strangers, though until that morning he would not have counted Crowley amongst them, but then the demon's behavior had proven quite the opposite.

The angel sighed. As strange as the notion that a demon's presence might have been comforting to anyone would have seemed, he dearly missed the other. And yet he could not bring himself to admit that he had judged his friend- the title appeared to be somewhat of an understatement as his heart clenched at the mere notion of the other being no more than just a friend- too harshly. So far the demon had always come around again. It had been that way for millenia. He would simply have to wait for things to cool down. Maybe he would take them out for dinner at the Ritz? Possibly some good dessert and wine after? And maybe he would even find the courage to ask him to stay for the night. It would all be rather lovely.

A content smile on his face, the angel settled back into his armchair with yet another book in hand.

*****

Adam's bedroom was a mess. Of course, what else would you expect from a boy on the brink of turning twelve years old.The ceiling was littered with model planes circling paper mache planets that were so wild in color and shape they could only have stemmed from a boy's mind that bristled with curiosity. That said boy had a knack for influencing reality by a mere thought was rather helpful.

The walls were plastered with posters of monsters and aliens and superheroes and villains and go- sat- someone forbid the boy ever had the muse to make any of it come to life!

Still Crowley could not quite deny the charm of it all. Anything was a vast improvement over the sterility of heaven or the grey walls of hell.

His protege sat up as the tall, lanky figure of a ginger haired man appeared in his bedroom out of nowhere, though as soon as he made eye-contact, his face split into an elated grin. Dog in the meantime only eyed the newcomer for a moment, then yawned, stretched and curled back up on the foot of the bed. He knew better than to pick a fight with the demon and frankly he was aware that this particular one posed no more threat to his master than the old, rugged cat from next door. He liked barking at it anyway, a payback for scratching his ear that one time he had come too close, hoping for a game of tag. The cat, Dog had been forced to acknowledge, did not appreciate it nearly as much as he did. It was no fun at all.

"How ya doing, kiddo?" Crowley greeted the boy who was still grinning at him as if Easter and Christmas had just been announced to be on the same day.

"Uh, just fine I guess," Adam shrugged. "Why are you here?" the boy shifted in his seat as if he wanted to launch at the other. Feeling rather lenient, Crowley opened his arms and was promptly tackled by an eager not-so-evil-at-all Antichrist. For some reason he had always been rather good with children. Not that he could have said why, but the feeling of being wanted by someone calmed his frayed nerves on an exceptionally deep level.

"Where's your friend?" Adam asked. "You know, that sturdy blonde guy that seemed to be smitten with you. Thought you two would end up inseparable." The kid looked up from beneath disheveled brown curls, a smug expression on his face.

"He...well...nnnghhhh." Little brat, Crowley thought, too smart for his own good, though that trait ran in the family. "He is...ah...busy," he lied in lieu of any better explanation. Of course the kid wouldn't buy it.

"Had a little domestic? You wanna talk about it?" Adam tilted his head, the knowing grin of his face widening even further.

"Absolutely not!" Crowley replied way too fast. He could feel heat creeping into his cheeks. No, he was not having _that_ sort of conversation with the adversary. The kid merely laughed and flopped back onto his bed, arms and legs outstretched. 

"You bored?" he asked, and though Crowley had the reflex to protest, he simply nodded.

"How 'bout a little road trip?" He sank down into the chair by Adam's desk, leaning back in what was supposed to be an easy going gesture.

"Huh?" Adam crossed his arms behind his head "What kinda road trip you thinking of uncle?"

Crowley frowned. "UNCLE?! Whatcha callin' me that for? I'm not _that_ old!"

"Aren't you? How old then? Hardly seem to be twenty-something."

"I...ngk...I...aarrrrggg...what do you even care?" He crossed his arms in defiance, completely missing the mark as the boy in front of him doubled over with laughter. Dog did not seem to like the noise, covering his floppy ears with his paws.

"You're so easy to tease, uncle." Adam took a deep breath to calm himself, face a nice shade of red from his outburst.

"Crowley," the demon mumbled. "Or Tony if you must. BUT. DON'T. CALL. ME. UNCLE."

The kid raised his hands. "You're no fun. Anyway, where we goin'?" The excitement had returned to his voice as he had slipped towards the edge of the mattress.

"How ‘bout Florida? Disney, perhaps? Obnoxious people to tease, sweet thrill of coasters, and enough junk food to give your old man a heart attack?"

"Awesome!" Adam clapped his hands. Crowley truly wished that his own life could be as easy.

*****

The park was crowded to say the least. Left and right there were mothers busy with keeping their screeching toddlers at bay, little girls dressed up as princesses demanding candy and demanding it immediately or boys that were fighting each other with plastic swords from the next gift shop. A perfect place for mayhem, but Crowley was in no mood to spread it. 

The lines were even worse. Everywhere. As if Disney folks were destined to be caught in endless cues. It had been his idea, a long long time ago, and as always Crowley had to pay the highest price for it. How every inconvenience he ever came up with would eventually end up backfiring was beyond him.

As they turned the corner to be met with a sign reading 'Splash Mountain. Waiting time 195 minutes,' he finally snapped. Gritting his teeth he snapped his fingers, causing most of the line to feel a sudden need for the loo. Adam watched in fascination as the waiting area emptied considerably, leaving only those too stubborn to give in to nature's call behind. The sign now read "15 minutes". It gave the demon a certain sense of satisfaction, as he knew that the lines had by no means dissipated but rather shifted towards the common bathroom areas. The agonized moans and unhappy dances of teens considering that last iced caramel macchiato to be a mistake were the icing on his cake. A bad deed well done. 

"I coulda jus' have gotten us fast passes, you know," Adam mumbled around a chunk of cotton candy he had just shoved into his mouth. He was sporting a pair of Mickey Mouse ears he had convinced the demon to buy to 'just get into the spirit', as he put it. 

Crowley groaned and leaned aside as sticky fingers grasped for his sleeve. 

"Couldn't have mentioned that any sssssssooner?" he hissed, though there was no real venom to it.

"Would it have made you as happy as sending those chaps off fighting for the loo?" the boy countered, and Crowley hardly could deny he had a point, so he shrugged.

"You gonna take the front or back?" 

"Uh…" the demon mumbled "back seat I guess?" Which was a mistake as the seat had not been properly dried and he immediately sat in a puddle of water, drenching his tight pants in a rather unfortunate spot. No good deed goes unpunished, he mused, as their log moved forward and up a slope.

"I saw how they were doing all kinds of crazy things on the pictures taken on this ride," Adam craned his neck, looking rather hopeful his godfather would come up with something extraordinary. 

It needs to be said that none of the park’s employees believed their eyes when a giant black and red snake with stylish shades stared into the camera, all curled up around a boy with brightly glowing eyes. Both of them would keep a copy of the photo as a dear memento of a close to perfect [day](https://eriathalia.tumblr.com/post/190626994378/title-i-want-to-be-your-starlight-rating).

*****

Unbeknownst to them, in a little flat situated just above an antique bookshop, a phone started ringing, the call soon leaving it's inhabitant with a deep frown on his round but somewhat beautiful face.

As he hung up, he checked his mobile (yes, he had at last yielded and gotten one of those infernal things) for messages. To his disappointment there were none. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he dialed Crowley's number. All that answered was a suave voicemail recording. A sinking feeling settled in the angel's stomach. Adam Young had been abducted, and his demon friend could not be found. Aziraphale couldn't help but connect the dots.

"Oh Crowley, what have you done now?" he muttered into the quiet of his flat.

***

Aziraphale was at a loss. In all their time together Crowley had pulled a handful of stunts that had gained the angel's disapproval, but never had he gone to the length if actually abducting anyone for the sake of gaining attention.

Yes, it was not proven that he was involved in Adam's disappearing (the boy had mischief literally running in his blood, combined with the ability to bend reality to his pleasure), so the kid could have merely run off due to his father being an utter bore. And yet the simultaneous disappearance of his closest friend left an uneasy feeling inside the angel.

He _had_ been too harsh after all. But certainly Crowley would understand that his words were showing how deeply he cared, no matter how well concealed the true meaning was. For heaven's sake! They had known each other for more than six thousand years. You could not pass millennia and not know the quirks of your only constant companion.

One more time Aziraphale picked up his phone and dialed Crowley's number. His caller history already showed 20 more of them, but who knew? The demon might just have fallen into a deep, sulky sleep and not heard. Surely if he just tried often enough the other would pick up and then they would set the record straight?

Of course he was fooling himself in that regard. Once again the only things answering was the recorded voicemail. 

"Crowley" the angel mumbled into the speaker "why won't you answer already? Please I…" Aziraphale sighed sadly "I'm sorry dear boy."

With that he hung up, the silence of his flat more heavy than ever before as realization set in his friend would not come back on his own accord

*****

Needless to say, Crowley delivered the not quite Antichrist back home by bedtime, right after giving in to the boy's rambling about wanting some real good 'Murican fast food. 

Of course Crowley obliged, though he wouldn't have admitted it was to please the boy, and instead pretended it was the wrong thing to do and thus appropriate. 

Nevertheless, it surprised him that Adam would not let him leave without giving him a bear hug and the promise to come back for a repeat soon.

That Adam would end up grounded for a week hardly concerned the kid. He was certain his parents would forget that he even was in trouble the day after tomorrow by noon.

*****

Crowley returned to his flat way after night had fallen, having decided he was in no hurry to be greeted by sterile white walls. 

He might have passed a certain bookshop on his way, though it hardly helped to brighten his spirits in the least. Strangely enough the lights were down, something rather unusual, given that his angel tended to spend the night with reading a favorite Shakespeare or Tolstoy or some other name among all the volumes he devoured night after night. They were not even alive anymore! Crowley gritted his teeth. He hated losing to those who were long dead. Didn't the angel see they had a connection so much deeper than his books could ever offer?

Whatever peak in his mood the day with Adam had granted him by now had disappeared. Defeated, he turned away from the shop, deciding that the chilly night air was still preferable to his flat. It was not as if anyone would be waiting for him anyway.

He was proven wrong as soon as he turned the key, or rather, when he noticed that there was no need for one. Stealthily he pushed the door open, peeking inside the dimly lit room. 

Dimly lit? The demon frowned. This time of day the flat should be pitch black. So why was there a sliver of light coming from his living room. 

Crowley closed the door with barely a sound and shifted form until there was a black snake with glowing yellow eyes slithering across the floor. In moments like this, his reptile self came in rather handy providing silent movement combined with brute strength when needed. 

He flicked his tongue and took in the scents around him as he neared the door to the living room. The scent was….oddly familiar. He jerked upward, bumping a nearby table in the process. It was enough to alert whomever had made themselves at home in his flat. 

His long body coiled as he got ready to strike at the intruder, pupils narrowing to mere slits as they focused on the doorway.

"Crowley? Is that you?" The demon sank to the floor, surprised to hear his angel's familiar voice.

Aziraphale's expression was a mixture of worry and...anger? His angel was...angry? Crowley had never seen the other like that. 

"Crowley." One word, a name, and so much between the lines. Relief, worry, anger and...disappointment? "Where have you been, Crowley?"

Instinctively, the demon ducked away, the simple words burning hotter than hellfire. Still he could not help answering with defiance.

"What would you care angel? You sssssssaid you didn't need me."

"I said no such thing!" the angel protested.

"Maybe you didn't sssssssay it, but you meant it," Crowley hissed. It was enough to make the angel's expression change to confusion.

"I didn't. Yes, we were fighting but…" Aziraphale worried his bottom lip between his teeth. "I would never- is that why you kidnapped Adam?!" he blurted out at last.

"Kidnapped? I did no sssssuch thhhing" Crowley answered with some confusion of his own. 

"Then where is the boy? He's gone Crowley! And could you please turn back to your human form? My neck is starting to hurt looking down." The angel gritted his teeth, though Crowley could tell it could be chalked up to nerves.

The demon did as he was bidden, leaning back against the small table he had bumped into not long before, stretching out his long legs and cracking his neck with a pleased sigh. 

"Now that's better," he mumbled, then looked back at the angel. 

"The boy is just fine. Took him on a little trip. What's the big deal?" He raised an eyebrow, a move that did nothing to calm.his companion.

"Without notice?! Crowley, the Young's were worried sick. It was all.over the news! What were you thinking?"

"Oh! Oh so now I am not even allowed to take our godson on an outing, am I?" Crowley snapped, fingers clutching the corner of the table. 

"You took him without any note! What if you had alerted…" the angel pointed first up, then down, biting his lip once more."

"Come on angel! They hardly care. The boy is nothing but a failure to them."

"How do you know?" Aziraphale quipped, mouth distorted in a deep frown. 

"It was just a trip to Disney World. Even got our way around the horrendously high admission. Just needed some distraction and Adam had a great time. He's a good kid. He loved it! Should be sleeping in his bed by now." 

Crowley pushed himself away from the table and sauntered past the angel towards a cabinet in his living room, opening it to reveal several fine bottles of whiskey and crystal tumblers. 

He poured himself a glass, then nodded to the other "Care for one?"

"Fine." Aziraphale snatched the glass from the demon's hand and settled in a high backed armchair, legs crossed at the ankles. "You still owe me.an explanation."

"‘Bout what?" Crowley threw his head back, downing his whiskey in one go. 

"About taking the boy."

The demon rolled his eyes, or at least he tried, without it being too visible to an outsider's eye. "Again angel, I did not 'take him'. He's back with his parents. As for why? Because he's the best company that's left for me and because I do like him. What else is there to say?" 

At last Crowley flopped down into another chair, legs dangling across the armrest as he had no intention of keeping up with any decorum. He felt drained and more than ready for another hundred years of napping. Of course the angel would have none of it.

"Best company? So that's it then? You're telling me we're through? After all these years?" Aziraphale's voice broke, one hand clasping his mouth to muffle a sob that was escaping his throat despite his best effort, his head bowed in defeat.

It almost broke the demon's heart. Tentatively he got out of his chair and approached his companion. The angel looked up, the bright blue eyes clouded and blurry with tears.

"Is it really that easy for you?" He asked.

Crowley shook his head.

"Of course it isn't angel. But I thought it was for you?" Slowly he knelt down in front of the other.

"For me? Why? How could you ever assume?! No!" The angel's voice was shaking with emotion.

"How could I- angel, you are so absorbed by your books you hardly ever take notice of me! For heav- sat- humanity's sake! You pay me less attention now than you ever did before the not apocalypse!"

"That's not- I would never- why else would I want you there with me? It's nice to have you close." Blue eyes were meeting golden ones in search for answers. "We're together each day, aren't we?" he muttered. "Certainly you must know how much it-"

"Are we?" Crowley asked, neither in anger nor sadness, just simple and plain and neutral. 

"Why yes. We spend each day together, don't we?"

"Define together," the demon demanded, fixing the other with a blank stare.

"Well, there's the bookshop and we are sitting together. I am reading a book and you are there and it is all nice and quiet and oh...oh no." Aziraphale's face fell as realization dawned on him.

"That's it, isn't it?" And suddenly his face broke into a myriad of emotions, ultimately dominated by sadness and regret.

"Did you feel lonely all the time?" he whispered, one hand reaching out to cup the demon's cheek, wiping at the wetness which had formed from tears rolling down that beautiful face as he nodded.

"Yes," was the only broken word Crowley dared to mutter, lest his voice broke from the cascade of bottled up feelings the angel had finally freed from their confines. 

"Oh dear boy." Aziraphale leaned down, their foreheads touching. "I am sorry. So so sorry." He kissed the demon's forehead once, then again and again, peppering kisses all over the face that had become so dear to him across the millennia. 

"Why did you never mention it?" the angel asked quietly.

"I tried, angel. You just wouldn't hear me." Crowley hung his head in defeat. "I thought your books were more important after all."

"Crowley…" Aziraphale reached out, tilting his face up by his chin. "Would you look at me? Please?" Reluctantly the demon complied. 

"Books are replaceable. You my dear, you are not. And I would never forgive myself if I lost you." With that the angel leaned in for a kiss, soft and gentle and barely more than a whisper.

Just as he was about to draw back, Aziraphale could feel the demon's arms slinging around his neck, holding him in place. 

"Don't angel...stay here." Crowley mumbled against his lips.

"Why of course, my dear boy." He dove back in, kissing the other more deeply, tongue tracing the seam of the demon's lips which parted eagerly. Gentle hands twisted into red hair, tousling the usual well kept thatch. Crowley moaned in answer, causing the angel to raise his eyebrow.

"Oh? Does this please you?" The guilty expression on the angel's face had been replaced by something far more daring and cheeky. The other blushed. "I think it does," Aziraphale whispered in his ear, the warm breath against sensitive skin sending a shiver down Crowley's spine. 

"Stop teasing me, angel." He grumbled, but the angel merely laughed. 

"Ah, but I like learning all those new facets of you. There must be depths to discover."

"You are wicked!" Crowley gasped as the angels tongue licked a trail along his throat.

"Possibly. Or maybe I have a lot to make up to you...to us?"

"Make up sex?" Crowley blurted out, then swiftly covered his traitorous mouth. 

"If you want to put it that way? Though I think it a little dramatic." Aziraphale sat back, eyes never leaving the demon's face. 

"A rather conventional trope, wouldn't you think?" His pout was kissed away by the angel who merely answered: 

"Fine. But if I told you the desire was mutual? That in fact I have desired to love you for a long time?" Aziraphale tilted his head, waiting for the question to sink in. It amused him how his companion's face turned an even deeper shade of red.

"You what?" Crowley croaked.

"Oh, don't be so surprised dear boy. I am a rather hedonistic man. No!" He raised his finger, effectively cutting off any possible protest about the statement. "I enjoy things. I love things. And I know desire. And you are like the finest wine. Not to be guzzled but enjoyed to its fullest. It was merely a question of consent. The truth is, dear boy, I was not certain whether you would be...amiable."

"Amiable?! What do you mean, amiable?! You had me think you were not interested!"

Aziraphale shrugged. "The mishaps of communication. Now, what do you say? Are you amiable to some...tumbling between the sheets?"

If the angel had compared the other to a ripe tomato, the demon would have still been redder in color. Unable to utter a single word, he nodded. 

"Very well." All of a sudden Crowley found himself lifted up into arms far stronger than even he could have guessed. 

"Which way, my dear?" A shaky finger pointed down the hall towards the bedroom.

"Very well then." 

The angel carried the other down the hallway, nudging the door open with a little heavenly help, then placed his beloved down on black silken sheets.

"Just as I imagined it would be," he muttered, taking a look around the room.

"You imagined my bedroom?" Crowley croaked.

"That and the way you would look. Now, I think we are a little overdressed." That said, the angel made short work of his bowtie and coat, quickly followed by the well worn waistcoat. As the first few buttons of the pristine white shirt came loose, Crowley longed to run his fingers through the fluff that was revealed underneath. The angel noted his glanced and reached for one of his hands, placing it on his chest. 

"Go ahead, dear boy. I am all yours," he mumbled, waiting patiently as the other struggled with the suddenly disobedient buttons.

After several minutes of fiddling, the shirt fell open, revealing -much to Crowley's annoyance a proper white undershirt. His face must have betrayed his thoughts as he heard his angel.laugh heartily. 

"I am a gentleman after all. Proper dressing is mandatory." He chuckled. Crowley shot him.a death glare.

"Not funny," he mumbled and decided to speed things up. With a flick of his hand, the clothes vanished, leaving them bare for the other to see. 

"Oh my, Crowley," the angel gasped. "You are stunning." Gently, Aziraphale pushed the other down onto the mattress. "Tell me what you wish for," he mumbled, then placed a kiss on his forehead.

"Anything, angel." The demon arched up against the other, flat stomach pressing against a soft, distended one.

"Anything? As you wish." Bit by bit the angel kissed his way down the demon's chest, suckling on sensitive nipples, teasing them to hardness before following the trail of fine hair downwards. As his tongue dipped into the other's navel, Crowley groaned, his hands searching for anything to hold onto, finally finding the angel's plump hips, squeezing tightly. 

"Oh...oh my dear...that feels rather nice." The angel wiggled in his grasp.

Crowley smiled, letting his fingers wander upwards, massaging the angel's soft belly. It was enough to make the angel's cock harden against his thigh, pressing against it insistently. It only made the demon's grin widen. 

"See what you are doing to me?" Aziraphale whispered, then slithered farther down, nipping his way towards the demon's own straining cock. "Though you seem to be pleased as well." Before Crowley could utter a comment the angel gave the head a tentative kick, rendering him speechless. 

"Oh? You like that?" He did it again, then took him in a little deeper, suckling the head as if it was the tastiest kind of lollipop. 

The demon cried out, arched upwards and came with a shuddering gasp, leaving the other surprised. The angel swallowed all the demon had to give anyway, then crawled back up to lie next to him. 

" 'M sorry" Crowley mumbled, looking away in shame. 

"Whatever for, dear one?" Aziraphale asked, gently turning his face back for the second time that night. The demon stayed quiet.

"Now don't be like that. 6000 years and you are sulking like a child."

"I failed you." Crowley muttered. The angel merely shook his head.

"You hardly did. But if you insist, you could help me with my little problem? And maybe in the morning…?"

Aziraphale shifted his hips, arousal still arched upwards in search of attention. 

"You could have me?" The demon offered, but the other shook his head. "Not like this. I'd rather enjoy it with you. And it's not as if we don't have enough time to find out" The angel started twirling the fine locks of hair on Crowley's chest around his forefinger. 

The other nodded and shifted to his side, hand sneaking downwards to cup the angel's straining erection in an uncertain grasp.

Aziraphale moaned. "Now that is...very pleasant. Please...you're not going to break me." His hips jerked upwards, seeking more friction. 

The rhythm they eventually fell into was slow but enough to push the angel over the edge. 

He cast a spell to clean them both up afterwards, the proceeded to draw a worn out demon on top of his chest, nuzzling the shock of ginger hair. 

"That certainly was a revelation."

"You think so?" Crowley craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the angel's face.

"Hmmm...you're gorgeous." Aziraphale's fingers started tracing the demon's spine. The other yawned and rubbed his eyes. 

"I might be in need of a nap." 

"Go ahead, my love." Crowley's eyes widened at the new endearment, but he decided not to comment on it just then. There would be time enough later. 

"I might just wait here and read a book." A pillow hit the angel's face hard. Don't you dare!" Crowley growled. Aziraphale laughed. 

"Alright, I got it. No books, at least not tonight."

In the end, the angel decided to take a shot at what his companion seemed to enjoy so thoroughly. When he was awoken by the scent of freshly baked croissants and coffee the next morning, he was rather certain that putting aside his books once in a while for his beloved would just be right as rain. And after all, there was always room to negotiate. After all, they both were keen on making their unusual relationship work for good.


End file.
